Heinous Indeed
by ArlkatThePillowfighter
Summary: "You kneel beside the river and you were right, it's very calm. You look at yourself and a series of words fly through your mind. Handsome-beautiful-wait-wings-what-oh god-what am I-hideous-horrible-monster. You're absolutely horrifying, and you know somehow that this isn't you." Heinoustuck AU, modeled around my own headcanons. Just read it. Rated T for heinoustuck.
1. Wake Up

**Hey, guys. This is a sadstuck fic, and I'm definitely going to continue it. Just something as an in-between for supernaturalstuck. Comments are appreciated!**

…

…

**Wake up**.

You fade slowly into consciousness, although it seems you can't move quite yet.

You're not really aware of your body, and yet you know it's there, like you're an outsider looking at it. Though you can't actually see.

You briefly attempt to describe this feeling, as it may come in handy once you regain full consciousness.

It's kind of like you're in a big pot of inky soup, warm and comfortable. You're connected to the outside by a single thread of string looped around your waist, and every tug on it brings you closer up, until-

_FUUUUUUUUCK._

Pain. That's all you can feel. You desperately try to dive back into the soup pot but it's empty and it just hurts as the string breaks and you hit the bottom. Now you're trapped inside your body that you still can't move, with an unbearable amount of pain that doesn't seem to want to ebb away.

You lie there, internally screaming for what feels like forever until suddenly you feel something. Something soft and feathery underneath your fingers… You latch onto that feeling and suddenly your world explodes with enough sensation to give you a headache on top of your horrible pain.

You groan, and your vocal cords feel rusty, unused. You let out an unhindered, much-needed scream that sounds more like a bird than a human. You pant for a moment as you attempt to ignore the pain and sit up. You blink open your eyes a second time and everything's tinted in black and red and fractured a bit at the edges. You're in a small field of grass, nowhere that you recognize. The sun is shining and it seems hella bright yet very dim at the same time.

You look at yourself and you don't see anything wrong except the black thing on your chest. You shrug, standing up. You feel something behind you, but you don't seem to question it as you stride forward.

_Stride._

That word sparks something, but you can't quite catch it as you chase it back to its mousehole inside your brain.

You're a very descriptive person, apparently. Maybe you're a writer.

You spot a small river-lake thing that seems still enough to look at your reflection in. Maybe if you look at yourself you can remember who you are. You walk over to it, and whatever's behind you seems to follow you but when you turn around there's nothing there.

You kneel beside the river and you were right, it's very calm. You look at yourself and a series of words fly through your mind.

_Handsome-beautiful-wait-wings-what-oh god-what am I-hideous-horrible-monster._

You're absolutely horrifying, and you know somehow that this isn't _you_.

You notice immediately the black thing on your chest isn't _on_ it, it's _in_ it - a long, black-handled katana running straight through your chest, just under your sternum.

You have inky black hair, and aviators with a gear design painted on them in what you assume is blood. That's why your vision is warped and tinted. You realize that you're wearing - no, it's _stitched onto your face_ \- a harlequin-like mask with a long white beak, painted-on mouth stitched over with red thread. Black feathers sprout up from your shirt collar, and huge raven's wings hover weightlessly behind you. That's what you felt.

You lean over further to see that your torso and legs are two halves sewn together, fresh blood dripping from the badly stitched seams, the same thick red thread on your mask. Your hands are huge bird's talons, and a dark grey color ringed with black feathers. Your clothes are alternating black and white, and you can't help but feel it's a mockery of who you once were.

You get the automatic feeling you shouldn't be doing whatever it is you're doing right now, but you have no idea what it is besides living, breathing, and bleeding. As you stare into your reflection, you watch as blood drips from underneath your shades and into the water.


	2. John

**Chapter 2 is here! :D comments are appreciated!**

This is becoming almost infuriating. You can't remember who you are, or even what you looked like.

You're not as dumb as you thought, though - you have some pretty good ideas. Right now you're trying to remember _other_ people from your past, but all you can think of is this one dorky kid you don't think you'd ever actually talk to. He's got hair darker than you do, big blue eyes and dorky glasses, and this big bucktoothed smile. You don't know why, but you suddenly wish he was here with you. John would know who you are.

Wait - John?

You don't remember knowing his name a second ago. Huh.

The more you sit and think about John, the more you remember about him. Nothing about yourself, but you learn quite a lot about this derp, everything except the rest of his name. You realize after a minute you must really like this guy to know this much about him. I mean, you know his favorite breakfast cereal and how much he loves Nic Cage movies and how he can quote the entire Con Air movie beat-for-beat and that one time in eighth grade when he randomly showed up at your school and-

You suddenly get a headache. Apparently you're not allowed to remember that part, cause it has something to do with yourself.

You've been walking for what seems like forever, and you find yourself in the outskirts of a city. You have no clue where this 'Spokane' is, but you're here now and you guess you'll just have to ask around. You don't know where John lives or anything but you're going to find him. You have to, he can help, you're sure.

About five minutes into walking through the streets you're starting to regret it. People look you over for about three seconds before running the fuck away screaming like imbeciles. It bothers you, but you somehow just ignore it. You don't know how, it should hurt like hell, but you guess you've had enough searing pain.

You see some people in navy blue uniforms and immediately head for them, asking where you are and what you should do in your scratchy, guttural, cawlike voice. One of them - the girl with the cane - walks up to you, sniffing. You figure she's blind.

"...Dave? What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be visiting Rose, out in the east?" She asks, and you shrug.

"I-I don't know… Dave? Is that who I am? Do I know you?" You ask desperately, a loud caw forcing its way into your sentence.

She pauses for a moment before turning to her partner. "Sollux, we have to take him to his Bro. He'll know what to do."

"We're on duty, tz. We can't jutht _do_ that, we'll get in trouble." He lisps, shrugging.

"Since when do you care about getting in trouble? Our duty is to help the people, that's what we're doing! Get him in the car!" She insists, and the guy backs off, holding his hands up.

You fold up your wings and you fit pretty well into the back of the car, though you don't understand who these people are. You keep asking, but they ignore you. You think the girl was crying, but they dumped you in front of a building, gave you instructions, and left.

You do what they said, you walk up the stairs and pressed the right button, cawing out the word 'Bro' near the little speaker thing. You didn't understand, but apparently it worked because about ten seconds later someone came out the door.

He's tall, an adult, with a shock of white-blond hair gelled into a stupid anime style. He wears a plain white tee shirt and black jeans, and dumb-looking pointy shades.

He looks confused for half a second before astonishment and realization cross his face and then he looks you over a second time and you see something you've been seeing a lot lately.

Fear.

"Dave…?" He asked, in disbelief.

"I don't know." You answer. You're getting tired of saying that.

"What happened to you?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know who I am?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't."

He looks saddened. Like, a lot. "I… I'm your big brother. Your Bro."

"...Bro." You look down. It feels so familiar, like you've known him your whole life. You probably have, if he's telling the truth. It actually makes you really sad not to be able to remember this guy.


	3. AN

**HELLO, MY LOVELY JELL-O CUPS!**

**First off, ****_you people are so fucking weird.  
_****I checked how many people followed each of my stories, and the vantacest bullshit had eleven. ELEVEN. Supernaturalstuck only had fifteen between the two seasons! Is my pointless smut better than my original stories I've worked so fucking hard on? **

**Apparently.**

**Well, I suppose I'll see what the people want when I check the results of the poll on my page. *cough cough***

**Anyways, I swear to god I'm discontinuing everything (****_EVERYTHING_****) until I have a substantial poll result. K? K.**

**Still sorta love you shits, AR.**


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